The Token
by chef diamond heart
Summary: The tumultuous first meeting between two Immortals, who are accustomed to taking whatever they want. A view into the darkest of dark minds... -content warning- short-listed in the "Les Femmes Noires" Contest


8-2-10 **The Token** has been nominated in the **"Best Nomad" Category **in _**The Single Shot Awards**_, voting begins August 16…check my profile for link info!

Disclaimer**:** All things Twilight are the sole property of the divine Stephenie Meyers. This fan fic is purely for entertainment (mainly mine!) with no other gain. No copyright infringement is intended. Think of it as an _homage_…

_Content Warning_: Although the sexual acts contained in this work of fan fiction are consensual, there is an element of violence that some readers may find disturbing.

**The Token**

I rifled through the closet, shoving the hangers apart violently as I searched: the bitch must have _something_ to wear that would suit me. This fucking closet was bigger than the room I had shared with two sisters in my long-ago childhood. I had picked her out at the club last night in part because she appeared to be about my size and her coloring wasn't too different.

But all she had were dispiritingly conservative suits and power dresses. She hadn't been that staid and boring last night - for a human, that is.

_Ha_! In the back, still in the dress bag from a very pricey boutique on Rodeo; at least she knew where to shop. She must have bought this, and kept it separate, as a little treat for herself.

Sexy, verging on - but not quite - slutty. A lot like me.

First, a lacey thong from the drawer, then I stepped into the ensemble. A short frothy skirt of spangled tulle, black with hints of purple, and a leather bustier to top it. Over that went a black velvet bolero; I loved the combination of fabrics as my hands smoothed over my body appreciating the contrasting textures. I passed on the lace mitts – too Madonna. A little pair of fuck-me ankle boots with stiletto heels completed the look.

Dancing to the tune in my head I went over to the dressing table and rummaged through the bitch's jewelry, trying on several pairs of earrings before finding one that suited me. She wasn't cheap, I had to give her that.

"Time to take care of business," I reminded myself as I caught sight of my unwitting hostess in the mirror.

The bitch lay sprawled on the bed, where I had left her, a look of surprise and horror frozen on her face. They always looked like that. The hook up of a lifetime with a smokin' hot babe – me - that turned out… a little different than planned. Too bad.

It got a tad boring, really.

I liked to liven things up.

"What's the plan this time, V?" I thought to myself. "Oh, same old." I didn't feel like coming up with anything new at the moment. I went to the bed and arranged the body in the pose I had been using lately.

Twirling and leaping and shaking my ass to the song that was still playing in my head – Generation X: 'Dancing with Myself' - I flew around the house collecting props to lay around last night's plaything.

There, perfect. Let them make of that what they would. And not one drop of blood; I had always had good table manners. Children were brought up right in my day.

They'd have to call in that hotshot detective to solve this one! What was his name? Oh, right, he was just a character out of a TV show! I snickered to myself at my own wit, wishing there was someone else to share the joke.

A being such as myself never had to fear anything as inconsequential as the police, but it was _amusing _to taunt them. To see the news reports, hear the outraged citizens demanding action over the monster terrorizing their town. I especially loved watching as a spokesperson struggled with press questioning, sweating and spinning to avoid using the 'S' term: Serial Killer!

Humans never really knew how often their lives were overlapped by those of the

undead.

In a city this size so much passed without comment; there were so many bizarre happenings, so many wild-ass lunatics, that the guardians of the public safety were S.O.L. from the start. Not that it would do them any good if they did catch me.

God, I love L.A.!

"'_Some of them want to be abused!_'" I sang along with the Eurythmics as I whipped through Beverly Hills in the sleek black Carrera, a thoughtful gift from last night's conquest.

I glanced at the silver-embossed invitation card I had lifted from my hostess' purse. This was the place. The In and Out Club. Hmm. Whatever. A flash of snatch was my tip for the valet as I tossed him the keys and jumped from the car. That was plenty for the likes of him, and it wasn't as though I'd be reclaiming the car: I was sure to find a new ride by night's end.

This place might well provide a bit of sport judging by the crowd out front. Humans in all their best finery, some thronging for admittance to the hottest new night spot; others just looking, hoping to see a celebrity or two.

Striding to the front of the line - people like me don't wait – I flashed my card at the burly doorman, who placed a hand squarely on my tits, holding me back.

With a squeeze, he challenged, "I don't recognize you, hon' - don't you have anything in the way of an… _inducement_ for me?" He smirked, his eyes raking my body suggestively. Pretty easy to tell what type of inducement he fancied.

Had we been alone I would have just ripped the asshole's head off for his impertinence. But the night was young and clubs were fun. I wasn't going to let this little fuckwad sour my sporting mood.

"Well, let me thi-ink." I cooed. "Not money, I'd guess." He shook his head, the smirk deepening. I seldom carried money anyway; I generally just took whatever the fuck I wanted.

Coyly fluttering my lashes, I murmured a suggestion. It worked, it always did.

I didn't even have to_ try_ with a prat like this: horniness and hubris (from a _doorman_) did the business for me.

With the promise of a future rendezvous, I slipped in the door, suffering my would-be Romeo to fondle my ass. Feeling my rock hard glutes he probably thought I was the queen of the stair-master. Little did he know.

The scene inside was as expected, crowded, noisy with the frenetic beat of dance music and the screams of the multitude; the grunts and huffs of those partaking of the sex rooms; low-voiced conversations full of dubious promises.

My nostrils flared to the tantalizing scent of humanity in such a place: booze and sweat and clashing perfumes; vomit and fast-absorbing sawdust; cum; drugs of various kinds; cigarettes. Fucking mouthwatering!

I strode through the press of bodies which parted almost magically around me, most people instinctively don't want to get too close to my kind.

Using a straight-legged strut like a runway model to make my boobs bounce enticingly, I knew without looking that I was turning heads. I always did. In a place like this no one cared if I stared back - they hoped I would.

I caught sight of myself in one of the many mirrors: masses of red-gold hair, shockingly white skin, hypnotic eyes. I licked my lips at the reflection. Fuck I was hot. I'd _totally_ do me.

My eyes lingered on a young girl, too young to be _here_, the doorman was planning a busy night, I guessed. She was slim, too much for her clothes to fit me, but she might do as an appetizer.

More bodies; more men; more women; more speculation. I loved the hunt.

Then I saw _him_.

He was across the way, leaning casually against the bar to look like a part of the raucous group next to him, as he discreetly surveyed the multitude. Blond, gray silk shirt, pleasant–faced but not exceptional, his pale skin gleamed in the flashing, strobing lights of the club. My eyes were riveted to him.

There were others of my kind in Los Angeles, of course. I knew the signs. Many of us prefer the mega cities. The hunting is good and concealment is easy. Mostly we avoid each other; vampires are hardly pack animals. This one, though….

I watched him covertly, feeling wary, fascinated, thrilled. I could learn a few things about the chase from this one: his easy manner with the mortals had distinct advantages.

Trolling them along, discerning the mark's predilections, adapting, and then…. The pursuit was the main thing for me – feeding was secondary to the entertainment of playing with my food.

He was like me.

I wanted him.

He turned; perhaps he could feel the force of my gaze. He slid his mirror aviator glasses down his nose as if to get a better look at me. It was a terrific human-like gesture. In the lurid light of the bar his crimson eyes would seem unremarkable.

With a casual smile, he tossed some bills on the bar and bade an offhand farewell to the group he had been standing near. To my eyes, he appeared to saunter toward me, but I knew that he was all but invisible to those around us with his preternatural speed.

Not wanting to appear too forward – I am a lady, after all – I tossed my head nonchalantly as if unaware of his attention. When I looked back he was gone.

Reflexively, my head snapped around; whatever his intentions, it wouldn't do to lose track of a hunter of this caliber.

There, on the far side of the dance floor, watching to see if I noticed. He _was_ good. I permitted a tiny smile of encouragement, followed by an expression of resigned boredom. I turned as if to go in search of something more interesting.

I was stopped by a low growl of challenge from behind me. A shiver of pure desire started at my knees and coursed upward through my body; any thoughts of leaving disappeared.

The hell with being a lady.

I leaned back into his hard, manly body. His arms wrapped around me, hands roaming me familiarly, deliciously, and then sliding beneath the short skirt to grip my inner thighs.

Overhead, the giant video screen showed images of the Scorpions performing 'No One Like You' – how appropriate. We joined the writhing throng moving to the frenzied beat of the music; we were hardly the only couple indulging ourselves in this manner.

Patience at an end, I spun on one foot to face him. I wound my fingers in his blond hair and pulled his face to mine and crushed my lips against his, forcing my tongue into his mouth.

Just the type of encounter this place encouraged. If they only knew.

Reluctantly, I tore myself from the embrace, but not before taking a deep breath to savor the scent of him. The aroma of our kind – appealing to humans, down right intoxicating to me – plus the perfume of fresh blood. He had fed recently.

How erotic.

Without really being aware of it I had noted the location of the rooms available for 'private engagements'. That was a knack of mine: I always knew which way to go, which way to run.

Tossing my head and laughing seductively, I drew him with me to a room where the open door indicated that it was free. As it happened there was a drunk, a male, passed out on the pleather sofa. No matter, it didn't look like he'd be bothering anybody for a while.

Almost panting with the craving that had overtaken me, I whipped off the velvet bolero and tossed it over the discreet security camera in the corner. I wasn't about to have fucking security guards, or voyeurs, beating off to my first go at _this_ – this gift from the gods.

My head slammed against the wall hard enough to leave a dent as he shoved his body against mine, his hard-on grinding into my pelvis.

If I'd had a heart it would have been pounding out of my chest from arousal. His power, his arrogant assurance that he could just take what he wanted, the granite-hard force of his cock pressing ruthlessly against me. All combined to make him the most exciting creature I'd ever chanced upon. We were a perfect match.

At last, a lover who wouldn't break or tear before I'd had my fill of him!

In the stiletto heels we were of the same height; I lifted one leg and set the toe of my boot on his hip. He took the invitation: it was no effort for him to tear the scanty lace of the thong I wore. His marble-smooth fingers gripped my mound, squeezing rhythmically, as his lips commandeered mine.

My hands flew down the front of the leather bustier, unhooking and ripping a little in my haste to bare myself for him. He was not so circumspect: he yanked his shirtfront apart, buttons flying and we fell on each other.

His hand was busy between my legs, fingers probing my pussy, flicking hard over my clit, spreading the silky nectar that his touch, his very presence, produced.

I couldn't stop my mouth traveling from his lips, down his throat, over his shoulders and chest, nibbling, sucking and nipping; my hunger for him was ravenous and growing.

No more waiting, I had to have him. Emitting little high-pitched howls of longing, I got his pants undone. His cock in my hand was even bigger, and harder, than I had thought. The walls of my pussy quivered in the expectation of being so well filled.

In a flash my hand was empty and he was slamming that superb dick of his into me, taking me roughly, urgently. I wrapped both legs around his waist, digging the heels of the little boots into the small of his back. No mere mortal would have been able to withstand the pressure of the heels or the strength with which my thighs clasped him to me.

"Unh –gah – fuck – yes – fuck me - you bastard!" I snarled, encouraging him, loving every motion of his cock. I could feel him hit bottom with every thrust. I dug my fingers into his shoulders wanting to feel him even closer.

The walls of the little room were covered in tufted velvet; strands of my hair caught in the brass studs holding the fabric as my partner rammed in and out of me. The tugging only increased my frenzy.

"Whoa, dude! When you're done there, I'd like a piece of that!" The drunk had woken up.

Our crimson eyes met, the agreement was instantaneous.

Peering over my lover's shoulder, I offered the interloper an inviting smile. "Why wait?" I purred with a come-hither look and beckoned with a finger.

His eyes widened and he lurched to his feet, stumbling toward us.

A steel hand whipped out and grabbed his throat, throttling him. The blond man who was fucking me so masterfully dragged the prey so that his body pressed against us and I caught a futilely flailing wrist. I slashed open the warm skin with my teeth and gasped with the pleasure of the hot blood flooding into my mouth.

My lover sank his own teeth into the drunk's neck. His thrusts accelerated to match the frantically beating heart of the terrified man but, unlike the prey, did not falter or slacken as the end neared. His stroke was relentless as together we drained the life out of the fleshy husk, never stopping our savage mutual striving.

The combination of the succulent blood and the demanding plunging of that marble shaft overwhelmed me. I could hear my own screams of exultant surrender as I was seized by waves of a brutal, wrenching joy.

With a roaring sound, my partner reached his climax, pumping into me mightily and carrying me to another peak of ecstasy with him. His pleasure was my passion, now and for eternity.

He kept me skewered to the wall with his cock as we recovered from the onslaught of passion. We had no need to pant, of course, not needing breath to survive, but our physiology being what it was, we did any way - it seemed right at such a moment. Any how, I loved the smell of sex and blood and death.

For the first time we had the opportunity to truly look at each other. Blazing red eyes, wild with our barely sated lust, blood from the dead man smeared on our mouths, clothing torn and in disarray, hair tousled from our groping hands – God! He was the best looking thing I'd ever seen!

"I foresee a long and… mutually advantageous relationship." My mystery man murmured in a soft, husky voice. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm James."

"Pleased to meet you, James." I replied demurely. "Since you've got your dick lodged in my cunt, I guess I should introduce myself, too. I'm – "

"Let me guess.' he interrupted, his eyes raking over me and catching on the necklace I always wore. It was my initial, a 'V', formed from twisted yellow and red gold. The man, scarcely remembered now, who had given it to me in another life had said the two colors reminded him of my hair.

"V is for… Vixen?" he guessed.

"Victoria!" I snorted. "Do I look like a 'Vixen'?"

"Well… now that you mention it." he smirked. We both laughed as at brilliant wit.

James' face hardened slightly. "I don't want you wearing another man's gift." He made as if to pull the necklace from my neck; I stopped him. I had boundaries – best if he knew that from the start.

"You've had a life before me, I'm betting…?" I let my voice trail off meaningfully. He nodded slowly and so the deal was made: no questions, no jealousy, just us, just _now_, forever. Immortality gives you plenty of space.

"You could give me a token of your own, you know." I suggested provocatively.

I moaned in protest as he jerked his cock from me and set me on my feet. He turned casually as if to survey the room. Faster than even my supernatural vision could register he had whirled and buried his teeth deeply into the flesh over my left breast.

A screech of pain, and outrage, and… excitement tore from my mouth.

Loosing me, he stepped back, his eyes challenging me, daring me to react. Well, two could play at that game – I _would_ mark him, in my own way, in my own time. I smiled inwardly; I could think of lots of tempting places to sink my teeth!

"I own you now." He affirmed, narrowed eyes burning into me. I shuddered inwardly with dark delight.

"We own each other." I corrected, archly.

James, my James now, tossed his head with a laugh, "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"I think that bargain deserves another fuck to seal the deal." I said boldly and lifted my leg to plant one of the darling little boots in the center of his chest. I gave a shove with my foot that propelled him back onto the fake leather sofa.

A broad, feral grin split his face as he landed. "That's my girl, my Victoria!" he approved. "By the way, the view is fantastic." I stood over him with my foot still between his chiseled pecs, he could see straight up my skirt.

Sinking to my knees between his legs I gave myself a moment to truly examine the gorgeous cock that had given me so much pleasure – and would give me so much more.

A thought crossed my mind of something I had seen in the world travels of my unending life: The Lingam. In many countries one finds, here and there, a phallus set in seemingly random places for the purpose of worship. Women and men alike pass by to pay homage by touching, praying and leaving offerings. Each one has his or her own purpose for such actions, of course.

Before me now was the object of my own worship. Long and thick, it had filled me to the hilt, perfectly. And no one could get hard like a vampire. I snickered silently to myself.

I lavished my tongue along the marble length between James' legs, swirling over every ridge and vein, hearing his breathy chuckle of gratification. I sucked and licked the venomous juices that serve our kind as cum from his pulsing member, rejoicing in the combined flavor of _us_ and the lingering smears of blood on my lips.

The need to have him in me again was a burning, gnawing ache in my center. I stood up and dropped the fluffy skirt to the floor. I stepped out of it and knelt on the sofa to straddle him. James' red eyes glowed with desire, mirroring mine. The scrap of lace around my waist from the sundered thong was my only garment.

His hands molded themselves around my breasts, gripping and kneading. The skin where he had bitten me smarted and throbbed; his thumbs teased my nipples to erectness – they felt hard enough to cut glass. His manipulations sent a wire of white-hot pleasure straight to my sex - my pussy was begging for him.

Holding his cock steady with my hand, I rubbed my inner folds over him, anointing him with my slippery arousal. Then I thrust down with my body, impaling myself on his hardness. I threw back my head and shrieked with the thrill of our joining. Eternity would not be enough time to enjoy this man's body!

Up and down I propelled myself on his magnificent hardness, grunting with the force of each thrust.

He released my breast long enough to push one of my hands to my split. "Work it for me, darlin', show me what you like." he commanded, so I did.

The combined sensation of his hands tweaking my nipples – _hard _- the sting of the bite, his shaft churning inside me, and the pressure of my own fingers on my clit sent me spiraling out of this world. I could feel my walls convulse around him, milking the venom-spunk from him as he climaxed with a deafening scream, jolting hard enough to make my head snap back and forth

As we came back to earth from our journey into otherworldly glory, we laughed together in triumphant joy. We slowly disentangled ourselves and gathered up the remnants of our clothes. The body of the dead man went behind the sofa; we would be long gone before he was noticed.

Ruefully I surveyed my disheveled appearance, our rendered attire would hardly cause any comment in a place like this, but… a girl likes to look her best.

"First order of business, get you into something that more befits your beauty, my love." James answered my unspoken wish. "I saw a lady out there a while back with a dress that would almost do you justice."

He crooked his elbow gallantly for me. Slipping my arm through his, I gave him my most brilliant smile and said, "I could do with a snack anyway."

Laura Branigan sang, "_I live among the creatures of the night_," as we stepped out into the pounding, pulsing heat of the nightclub, ready to partake of the endless feast before us.

…


End file.
